


Karedevil Ficlets

by AustinB



Series: Tumblr Prompts [17]
Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Angry Kissing, Baby Fluff, Blood, F/M, Fluff, Foggy Nelson Is a Good Bro, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Reveal, Origami, Schmoop, Secret Identity, Sleeping Together, Threesome, Ugly Holiday Sweaters, Valentine's Day, karen being awesome, karen x daredevil, some violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-11
Updated: 2016-03-30
Packaged: 2018-05-19 18:47:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 11,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5977351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AustinB/pseuds/AustinB
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I was gettin rull tired of creating a new work for each tiny ficlet, so they will be collected here going forward.</p><p>If you're just here for the Karedevil, now you can subscribe just to this and be spared the notifications for all the Stucky fics. </p><p>love ya!</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. Not Alone

**Author's Note:**

> I was gettin rull tired of creating a new work for each tiny ficlet, so they will be collected here going forward.
> 
> If you're just here for the Karedevil, now you can subscribe just to this and be spared the notifications for all the Stucky fics. 
> 
> love ya!

Fanfic request from the [@fuckyeahkaredevil](http://tmblr.co/miJIaC2d7iMWLzo6boCt-Wg) inbox: I’d love to see one where Daredevil rescues Karen from a brutal attack (though she does get injured) and she begs him not to leave her alone until the ambulance comes. He responds with the “You’re not alone… you never were” and she starts to put the pieces together that Matt is Daredevil.

* * *

Yeah, Matt put a tracker in Karen’s purse. So what? He has one in Foggy’s watch, too.

Sure, she’d take his left nut if she knew, but he can’t find it in him to regret it, especially when he checks the readout at 11 p.m. like he does every night and sees it’s been stationary down by the dock for the last four hours.

The drug and arms dealer who Daredevil has been inconveniencing is unhappy, and now he knows Matt’s identity.

He suits up and cases the boat house, where a guard with a poorly concealed semi-automatic by the door takes the brunt of his anger. Daredevil leaves him with more broken bones than not, thirty yards away.

Karen’s blindfolded in a chair, hands tied behind her between two runabout boats. There’s blood on her face, but he can’t tell from this distance where the cuts are. It doesn’t matter much at this point.

His anger makes him sloppy, and a bullet grazes his calf. But his anger is also making adrenaline shoot through him, so he barely feels it. He’ll be sore tomorrow, in more ways than one, but the sound of flesh on flesh, bones cracking, makes his heart sing. By the end, he’ll make sure everyone knows. Anyone who dares touch what’s his will pay a price you can only pay once.

The seven men with guns and knives are unconscious or incapacitated, and when Daredevil comes face to face with the kingpin, it’s kill or be killed. So he kills.

He’s not sure if the man told anyone else Daredevil’s identity, but his priority at the moment is the woman, tied and trembling in the middle of the room. Her head is bowed, shoulders hunched when the bullets had started flying.

“It’s ok,” he says, untying her hands. She doesn’t push the blindfold off herself, so he removes it carefully. He keeps his head down, but she’s not looking at him anyway.

He scoops her up with one arm behind her back and one under her knees, and from here he can tell the blood is coming from a cut over her eyebrow, one on her cheek and a split lip.

Out of the building, down the street, to the corner where the street lamp is still working. He sets her on the curb.

“Why me?” she whispers. “Why would they take me?” 

He hasn’t quite figured out how to cover that one, yet, so he says, “The police are on their way.”

He turns to go, but her hand shoots out and circles his gloved wrist.

“Please,” her breaths are coming ragged, trying not to cry, “don’t leave me alone.”

She hunches in again, arms tucked across her stomach with Daredevil standing over her. 

When the flashing lights come into view, he crouches next to her. She’s still trembling in the chill of the night, resting her forehead on her knees, breathing ujjayi breaths. That she suffered for his weakness is a debt he will be repaying for the rest of his life. That her unending strength strengthens him is a gift he will thank her for in all the ways he knows how.

“You’re not alone, Karen.” He slips one gloved hand into hers and squeezes. She squeezes back. “You never were.”

A sob tears free from her throat, and when her grip loosens, he slips away.

* * *

Foggy already saw her at the hospital, but the next time they’re all together in the office, they fuss over her cuts and bruises again anyway.

“I’m ok, Foggy,” she says, fondly exasperated, a tinny hint of fear still in her voice. “I just wish I knew what they wanted me for.” She looks at Matt hard. For the life of him, he can’t force any words out past the knot in his chest, the one that’s begging him to _tell her, tell her_.

“Well, we’re working with the police on that,” Foggy says, glancing nervously between them. 

“You sure you’re alright?” Matt asks her quietly, when Foggy runs out on an errand.

She leans back in her chair. “Yeah, actually. I was confused. And hurt and _pissed off_ , but. I think I understand.”

Her voice is calm and even, and Matt’s panic is starting to spiral out of control.

“Understand what?”

She looks at him for a moment. She has a way of making him feel like glass. Like she can see right through him. She moves around her desk and stands in front of him.

“Daredevil said something to me. Said I’m not alone.” She takes his hand, squeezes it. He squeezes back on instinct. “I believe him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ps find me on tumblr @ stuckylikeglue


	2. Origami

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: so remember how Matt folded that bracelet thing for Stick? I'd like a fic where Matt foldes random things for Karen out of scraps of paper in the office, and just leaves them on her desk for her to find

He likes having something to do with his hands, when he’s stuck somewhere. It’s productive, in a way; he has something to show for it, even if it’s just a ring of trash.

The train is late, and there’s a subway map on the bench next to him and before he knows it, he has a half a necklace. He decides to finish it with old mail when he gets home, because why waste all that work?

The finished necklace is sitting by the door when he goes to work the next morning, so he throws it in his briefcase. He leaves it on Karen’s desk when she goes out for lunch.

“Oh,” she says to herself when she finds it draped across her keyboard.

He doesn’t know if she wears them or throws them away, or if she even knows they’re from him, but the next time his hands are idle, he reaches for the nearest scrap of paper he can find, and makes a matching bracelet.

“What’s this, garbage chic?” Foggy asks her, when they’re all three in the conference room.

“What? Oh. It’s not garbage, it’s jewelry. What’s garbage is that tie. Tell him, Matt,” Karen says, even though he couldn’t possibly.

“Matt, this tie is classically stylish.”

“I’m sorry, were you guys saying something? Because I was working.”

“Passive aggressive,” says Foggy.

“Hm,” says Karen.

* * *

Rings are easy, because they’re small, and Karen’s fingers are slender anyway. But he wants to make sure it’ll fit, and there’s no real smooth way of sizing her fingers, so he decides to be frank about it.

He stands in front of her desk.

“Hand,” he says. She puts her hand in his outstretched one. He moves his fingers over hers and then drops her hand. “Thank you.”

He comes back five minutes later and holds his hand out again. She places hers in it so he can slip the ring onto her index finger.

“Yes, yes, a thousand times, yes,” she says drily. He laughs. “May I request a tiara, next?”

“You may.”

* * *

He makes her a tiara, though it’s a stretch of his skills. He puts far too much time and effort into it, because it was a specific request. Halfway through he realizes he needs to size her head. So he goes to her at her desk and places his hands around her skull. She pays him no mind, just keeps typing away on her computer, and he walks away without a word, to the sound of her snickering behind.

When it’s finished, it’s too tall to fit in his briefcase, so he carries it in his hands on the train like a nerd, jutting out his elbows and really playing up the blind card, lest anyone crumple it.

He manages to wait five minutes after he arrives at the office, then places it gently on her head as she sits at her desk.

She gasps and says tearily, “I’d like to thank my mom, and the American people.” She sounds so sincere Matt can’t help but laugh.

“What is _this_ ,” Foggy shouts from his office, “some kind of origami courtship?”

He can feel Karen’s blush, so he says, “Yes,” and goes back to work.

* * *

It’s Valentine’s Day, and he knows Karen doesn’t have any plans, thanks to Foggy’s prying the day before.

He’s been working on her gift for the last two weeks. He’d even purchased a booklet of scrapbooking paper. The woman at the store had nearly melted when he told her what it was for. She selected pages of ivory-colored sheet music; some love songs, some classic oldies, it doesn’t really matter.

He wraps the stems in red tissue paper and gets no fewer than six compliments on them on the train.

“Lucky girl.” “Man, those are rad.” “What a great idea!” He doesn’t even have to bracket his arms around them, they’re big enough that people notice, and understand their fragility, giving him a wide berth.

Karen says nothing when he comes in with them. No gasp, squeal, nothing. He’s about to panic, until she says, “Matt,” in a whisper. He sets the dozen paper roses on her desk in front of her. “These are stunning.” Still whispering.

He restrains himself from saying, “So are you,” because he is not in a romantic comedy, and he respects Karen too much for that kind of cliche.

He’s not actually quite sure _what_ to say. In the pause, Foggy comes in behind him.

“Whoa! Dude, those are crazy.”

“Not really the word I was going for.”

“Crazy romantic?”

“Better.”

“Matt, Karen already agreed to be my Valentine. You can’t steal her,” Foggy teases, god bless him.

Karen shakes her head. “It wasn’t a Valentine request,” she says uncertainly, “Was it?”

“He’s been asking you to be his Valentine for two months with these garbage gifts.” 

Karen frowns, “It’s not-” 

“Garbage, right. It’s not what _I_ would’ve done, _certainly_ , but hey, looks like it worked. I’ll bow out gracefully,” Foggy says, and heads to his office. “I know when I’ve been bested.”

God, Matt hoped this would have gone a little smoother. But Karen is grinning at the flowers, so it’s not a total disaster.

“Dinner?” Matt suggests. Karen smiles up at him.

“A thousand times, yes.”


	3. Sweater Weather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ugly holiday sweater nonsense that no one asked for

“Foggy, you’ve got to stop doing this to him.”

“First of all; never. It’s hilarious. Secondly, he was fully aware of this one.”

“What, you don’t like it?” Matt asks, smoothing his hands over the wild pattern knit into his sweater. Reindeer, snowmen and polar bears dancing around snowflakes. It makes Karen’s eyes hurt, but he’s grinning crookedly and she can’t help herself.

“You know what, actually, I do.”

* * *

“I win,” Karen announces when Matt enters.

“I have no doubt. What this time?”

She does a little shimmy that makes the bells on her sweater jingle and a pinched expression flash over Matt’s features.

“Beyond that, you’ll just have to trust me. I mean,” she says, looking down at the raised pattern of penguins in santa hats, “you could probably feel the yarns-”

“No!” Matt exclaims, then clears his throat. “No need. I trust you.”

* * *

Foggy wins by a landslide, with the sweater that requires two double A’s to flash Christmas lights in time with a tinny “Jingle Bells” that plays on a loop until both Matt and Karen admit defeat.


	4. Cane You Feel the Love Tonight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: since Matt always seems to just lose - throw for the sake of crime fighting - his canes, maybe Karen would get the idea of getting a special one for him? Or maybe several at once so that he'd have a stash (if he didn't already have one, which he appears to have)?

When he opens the office door and feels Karen’s eyes on him, he realizes he doesn’t have a cane. Preoccupied as he was with everything that was going on, he’d forgotten to stop to pick up another from one of his stashes around the city, after tossing his aside in order to better be able to chase after a lead.

He adopts a beleaguered expression. When he’s with Karen, he finds himself to be quite the actor. Pretend not to be a masked vigilante, pretend not to notice the way her breath comes faster when he’s near, pretend not to want her more than anything else in this world.

“Lost my cane in a sewer grate,” he grumbles, and hopes she won’t offer to walk him home in the evening like she had last time this happened. To his surprise, she only hums in acknowledgement. It makes the hair at the back of his neck stand on end.

He skims along the wall to his office door and hears Karen get up from her seat and open a file cabinet. He pauses when she moves toward him. She presses something into his hand, then returns to her seat without a word.

He unfolds a brand new cane, a little heavier and thicker than the ones he likes.

“Why do you–” he stops, already knowing the answer before he even finishes the question, but Karen answers anyway.

“This is the third time you’ve lost a cane. I can’t be escorting you all over the city. I have more for next time,” she says, smiling.

Her unparalleled generosity makes him want to save the world. Makes him want to gather her up in his arms like he dreamt of doing last night, and the night before that.

Instead he chokes on a stilted, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she says, her smile dampened by his strange reaction, so he clears his throat and elaborates.

“You take such good care of me.”

There, her smile is back, even brighter than before.

“Somebody’s gotta.”


	5. Hail Mary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: What if Matt went to give confession to his priest but when he walked in he could hear Karen already doing so?

He stops halfway to the confessional when he hears voices, and turns toward the pews instead. He’ll sit and wait. There are some things he needs to work out, and this place is a kind of sanctuary. Somewhere he doesn’t have to hide.

He folds his hands on the back of the pew in front of him. These hands that have shed so much blood, caused so much pain, will cause even more pain, what is he even doing here? Why does he bother?

The voice in the confessional cuts through his thoughts. It’s Karen’s.

“–done this before. A friend of mine is religious and he got me thinking about it. Gets me thinking about lots of things but, ah. We’ll get to that.”

He could leave, let her have her privacy, but his soul is heavy. He needs this. He starts praying hard, to tune out her voice– _Hail Mary full of grace the Lord is with thee_ – but it still gets to him.

“–handsome, of course, but he’s kind and good and I just want… I just want.”

Hail Mary full of grace the Lord is with thee.

She talks for another ten minutes. What on earth could Karen, _Karen_ , have done that she thinks she needs to do so much confessing for?

“–didn’t report it to the police because I didn’t know who was working for–”

Hail Mary full of grace. Hail Mary. _Hail Mary._

She thanks Father Lantom and leaves, sniffling. Matt ducks his head as her shoes click over toward the door, but people in church don’t tend to look at each other anyway, especially when coming out of confessional.

Matt makes his legs take him into the booth, and when he sits, he’s met with uncharacteristically stony silence. He certainly can’t blame him. Matt’s on Karen’s side too.

She doesn’t deserve any of this. She shouldn’t have had to dirty her hands to pull herself out of a grave that was dug for her. The darkness is pervasive; all encompassing. It leaves none untouched, it has no mercy. And he brings it to her doorstep every day over and over again, closer and closer.

“Forgive me Father for I–” he has to stop when his voice breaks. Father Lantom lets him have a moment to gather himself, then says,

“She’s stronger than you think.”

“Not strong enough for this.”

“Don’t you think that’s something she should get to decide for herself?”

“She doesn’t know enough to make the right choice because I. Because I keep lying to her.”

Father Lantom says nothing. Matt hates it when he does that, letting him draw his own conclusions.

Matt finishes what he came to do leaves with a heartfelt, “Thank you, Father.”

* * *

Karen likes Father Lantom. His voice is soothing, and he gives good advice. She feels better after saying her troubles out loud but feels guilty for using it as more of free therapy than any sort of connection to God.

But it’s brought her many more good things too. She’s taken to volunteering at the hospital, after seeing a flyer on the church bulletin board. So she spends her Tuesday evenings and sometimes Thursdays cuddling preemies in the NICU. Sometimes Foggy comes with her and they coo at each other over the size of infant fingernails. She invites Matt every time too, but the guy who needs it most never will come.

One Thursday, she heads down to the cafeteria after her cuddle time and finds a pretty nurse staring mournfully at the vending machine. Karen jiggles her change in her hand in front of the coffee machine.

“Karma hates me. I decide on a Honey Bun instead of the veggie chips and now it’s taunting me.”

The honey bun is hanging on the metal spiral by a corner. Karen steps up to the vending machine and puts her quarters in, B6.

“Aw, you don’t have to do that.”

“Well, I figure a crappy pastry would go really well with my crappy coffee,” Karen says.

 _Two_ Honey Buns fall and the women squeal in delight. They sit together with their circular shaped high fructose corn syrup and coffee-flavored sludge.

So Karen and Claire have snacks and coffee on Tuesdays and sometimes Thursdays, and then one time they meet for lunch outside the hospital, and pretty soon Karen’s helping Claire shop for a dress for a wedding she’s going to in the fall because ‘girl you always look so sharp.’

She hasn’t had a girlfriend in a long time, and after spending all her time with Matt and Foggy, she’s forgotten how nice it is, this unspoken camaraderie.

It isn’t all that late when she heads toward the subway from the hospital on a Tuesday, but late enough. She hears a scuffling in an alleyway up ahead, a crunch and a muffled scream. She runs toward it.

There’s a dark figure huddled on the ground, breathing hard and hunched in on itself. 

“Hey, are you okay?” she asks when she’s halfway to it. He lifts his head and she stops. Those horns are pretty unmistakable even in the half light. 

“What are you doing? Get out of here." 

Well if she was going to be star struck he just cured her of that. 

"Do you want my help or not?" 

He stands, his right arm hanging limply by his side. "Hold my arm up, gently, gently." 

She takes his gloved hand in hers and supports his elbow as she lifts his arm. He’s facing the wall and when his arm is parallel to the ground he shoves his shoulder into the bricks with a grunt. There’s a loud pop and he groans, leaning his forehead against the wall. 

Karen lowers his arm slowly as he breathes deep against the pain, but keeps his hand. He’s holding her fingers with light pressure so she doesn’t feel too weird about it. He turns his shoulders toward her and regards her carefully. The light is bad and she can’t really make out much of him except his outline thrown by the flood light behind. 

"Millions of people in this city as I run into you again? Almost like you’re looking for me,” he says quietly, teasing. He sounds a little bit like Matt and maybe it’s messed up but that’s the part that thrills her most. 

“Is vanity one of your superpowers too?” Then she undermines the cheek in her words by leaning in to press her lips against his. She’s not sure what’s come over her. Apparently she’s surprised him too. He’s still as stone, so she leans back. 

“Sorry,” she whispers, “that was stupid." 

"Yeah.” His tongue darts out to wet his lips. “Do it again." 

He meets her halfway. It’s strange, kissing a man wearing a mask. But it’s good too. Really, really good. Father Lantom’s going to be so mad at her. 

Daredevil’s gloved hand is on her face, tilting her to his liking, pressing his tongue against hers. She’s still holding his other hand. Then he takes his body away from her. 

"I’m glad you’re here. I could use some help." 

Help? Sure, you need someone to find your tonsils, I’m your girl. Oh, or take that shady-looking briefcase to the police department down the block. But don’t touch the handle or the blood. Got it. 

"I’ll be watching the whole time." 

She tracks him on the rooftops for a block, doing some impressive acrobatics, until he decides not to let her see him anymore and then he’s invisible. But she knows he’s still there. 

The police go into a little tizzy, and she tells them she found it in an alley in the opposite direction. She leaves her contact information and they let her go. She goes back to the alley, hoping to find him there. 

Does this make her his sidekick? Daregirl. Ugh that’s terrible. Dare Woman? No way. Well, they can figure that out later. She hears feet land hard on the concrete as he leaps down from the roof, which seems a little dramatic. The fire escape is _right there_. 

She wants to ask if she gets a costume too, but finds herself at a loss for words. Because Daredevil is stalking down the alley through a puddle of garbage water and using his whole body to crowd her against the wall. 

This kiss is different. He’s trying to devour her, breathe the air straight from her lungs, owning her lips and  _hello_  that’s his thigh pressed between hers. 

She forgets for a minute that a world exists beyond the two of them, until an alley cat rattles a bottle and breaks their bubble. 

Daredevil gives her mouth a scant inch of space and leans his forehead against hers, which, _holy shit_. His lips are pressed into a tight line and her visions of them fighting crime side by side disappear. 

"I’m not gonna see you again, am I.” It’s not really a question, so he doesn’t answer it. He just steps away from her. She hates it when he does that. 

“Thank you for. Your help.” Then he disappears into the darkness.


	6. Full of Grace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> continuation and conclusion of the previous chapter

She’s glad to see Thursday. She needs to cuddle some babies stat. Matt’s arm is sore from sleeping on it wrong or something, so she’s not even going to ask him, but he actually looks a little bereft until she says, “Hey, Matt, you wanna come?”

He smiles and says “Maybe next time” instead of his usual “No, thanks.”

Progress, Karen thinks.

Karen wonders if she could tell Claire about her meeting Daredevil, because Father Lantom was, as expected, less than thrilled about it, and she knows Matt and Foggy would be _beyond_ furious, but she decides their friendship isn’t quite into confessing-trysts-with-vigilantes territory yet.

* * *

It’s not like she actually goes _looking_ for Daredevil after that _per se._ But she does take the long way home from work and from the hospital, winding arcs through blocks she’s never been before, questioning herself and her motives the entire time. But seeing into the darkness with frequency actually makes it a little less scary. Disturbing as fuck, yes, but no longer unknown.

She doesn’t find him at first, but when she hears a shout from an alleyway, she finds a different guy, pinning a girl to the ground with a hand over her mouth.

“Hey asshole,” she shouts, holding her phone up at him, “Smile.”

A picture would never turn out in this light, but just her being there is enough to scare him off. Karen drops to her knees by the girl.

“Are you okay?”

The woman is crying, shaking hard and incapable of words. Karen practically carries her to the police station. Karen gives her statement, even though she has a little trouble with the question, “What were you doing in that alley?” the officer isn’t paying too much attention to her answer anyway. She stays with Lily until they’re through questioning her. She walks her right up to her door, returns a heartfelt hug, then gets her ass home.

The next morning Foggy brings in a box of donuts. Karen needed that reminder of goodness so badly that her vision gets cloudy and she wraps him in a big hug.

“K, what’s wrong?”

“What, can’t a girl appreciate her friend?”

“I mean, I guess.”

“And sugar-covered fried dough?”

“That sounds more reasonable.”

* * *

The next time, she does find him.

His back is to her in the dim light between two high-rises, and from the set of his shoulders silhouetted in the yellow light, for one wild minute Karen thinks it’s Matt standing there. It looks like he’s trying to stagger somewhere, but he’s weaving and leaning heavily against the building.

She sprints to him when he crumples to the ground.

His whole left side is bloodied, and she’s not sure he knows she’s there until he grits out, “Followin’ me again?”

Karen huffs, “You’re goddamn lucky I was.”

He gives her an address and she somehow manages to get him there, his arm heavy around her shoulders. She heaves him up four flights of stairs and knocks on an apartment door.

Claire opens it.

“Jesus, Karen,” Claire says at the same time Karen says, “Claire?!”

Daredevil groans.

Claire directs Karen to dump him onto the couch.

“You have to leave,” Daredevil growls to her while Claire is bustling about, gathering supplies.

“What? No way, I can–”

He hooks one hand around the back of her neck and pulls her down to his lips for a vicious kiss. She tastes blood on his tongue and his teeth sting her lips, then he pushes her away just as viciously.

“Get her out of here,” Daredevil says to Claire. 

“He’s right, you need to go,” Claire says. 

Her feet think this is a terrible idea and Claire has to all but shove her out the door.

And then she’s standing alone in the quiet hallway. Even though she’s pissed and scared, she can see the wisdom in getting the hell out of there. She can’t hear anything through the door anyway, so she goes home.

When she looks at herself in her bathroom mirror she understands why the people on the subway moved away from her. She’s got blood at the corner of her mouth and on her chin, and dried in her hair behind her head.

She showers and watches the pink water swirl down the drain, then brushes her teeth twice. Even then, dry and warm and tucked under her blankets, she can still taste his bloody, desperate kiss on her lips.

* * *

Karen full on stalks Claire at the hospital, waiting for her opportunity. When the nurse catches sight of her, she flicks her eyes up from her chart, unsurprised. 

“No.”

Karen approaches her fully. 

“Come on Claire–”

“You know I can’t.” She makes a show of writing in her chart but Karen never was one to back down so easy. 

“I don’t want his address and social security number,” Karen lowers her voice as another nurse passes and gives her an odd look, “Just give me something. Are you two…?”

“No,” Claire sighs, and Karen’s sure there’s more to that story, “he’s a good guy, but it was too much drama –and danger– for me.”

She pins Karen with a meaningful look but Karen ignores it. 

“What’s his name?” she tries. 

“No.” Claire files her chart and picks up another. 

“What color are his eyes?”

“Oh my god, girl. They’re brown, now get your weirdo ass out of here.”

* * *

She wouldn’t have made a good costumed vigilante anyway. She’s terrible at hiding her feelings. When they’re all three gathered in the conference room, Foggy catches her deep in thought and calls her out on it. 

“Alright K, you’ve been acting weird. Out with it.“ 

“Oh. It’s nothing, I just–” and she can’t outright lie, not to Foggy. She takes a fortifying breath. “You’re gonna be so mad at me. I met Daredevil." 

Foggy glares at Matt. "When?" 

She winces. "The first time?” Foggy throws his hands in the air. “A couple weeks ago. The last time, Sunday." 

"What happened,” Matt asks quietly. Foggy glares at him again, like maybe he should be having a stronger reaction to this. But he’s just sitting with his hands folded on the table, still and stony. 

“I just kind of stumbled on him and then sort of took a briefcase to the police. Then last time I took him to his friend’s, because he was hurt.” Karen doesn’t mention that his friend is also her friend. Even though it’s only Matt and Foggy, there’s no reason to bring Claire into this. 

“He can’t ask you to do those things.” Foggy’s turning beet red and white as a sheet at intervals, until it blends into a truly terrifying splotchy fury. He has to leave the room to pace the office. 

“You don’t think it’s that bad, do you?” she asks Matt. He chooses his words carefully. 

“I’m sure he appreciated your help, but he can probably take care of himself. He shouldn’t be involving you.” Somehow his calmness is already making her feel better after almost giving Foggy a heart attack, and she feels the knot of lies and guilt untangling in her chest. 

“It wasn’t anything,” she shrugs. “He takes care of all of Hell’s Kitchen, the least I can do is try to take care of him, if I can." 

Matt looks pained by her recklessness and Foggy’s regained his breath enough to come back in and warn her very sternly against leaving her apartment after 9:30 p.m. She promises to not break her new curfew, _sorry mom_ , and tries not to let it show on her face how touched she is that Foggy’s so concerned for her.

* * *

It’s late when she goes to the church, but she knows Father Lantom keeps the doors open. She sits in the front pew and looks up at the altar for a while. Then bends her head to pray. She hasn’t done this, not really, not even since starting to come to confessional. She has no idea how to even begin. 

Please God, or whoever is listening, please watch over Matt. He’s carrying something and won’t let anyone help him. Watch over Foggy, he’s so sweet, I want him to keep that. And please watch over Daredevil. If I can’t be out there to help him maybe you can watch his back for me. 

She realizes Father Lantom is sitting in the pew a respectful distance away. 

"Don’t let me disturb you. I just wanted to see how you’re doing.” 

“Better,” Karen says, and means it. And because she tells him everything else, she says, “I was just praying.” These words sound strange coming out of her mouth. “Praying for my boss. He’s a good man but he’s troubled by something. And I was praying for Daredevil, because I’m not sure how many people do. And I’m afraid he needs it.” 

Father Lantom smiles at her kindly, if a little pained, like she’s the troublesome child who’s still done something that’s made him proud. 

There’s a sudden crash from the room behind the altar and they both jump up. 

“Stay here,” Father Lantom says as he heads to the dark wood door tucked back in the corner. 

“Yeah right,” Karen says as she follows him. When he opens the door–it’s an office, plain and cozy–Daredevil is leaning against the desk, a hand hovering over his left side. There’s no blood, thank god on behalf of the ivory carpet, but he’s wheezing a little. 

Father Lamton rushes forward. Seriously do _all_ of her new friends know this guy? 

“What’s she doing here?” Daredevil asks. 

“Repenting my sins," Karen says, "What are you doing here?” 

“Same,” he grinds out from behind clenched teeth. 

Father Lantom implores her to leave so she paces around the church for twenty minutes, until she turns back to the altar and sees Daredevil sitting in the front pew, hunched forward. She walks up slowly and doesn’t realize until she sits next to him that he’s taken his mask off and is holding it in his hands. His dark hair is all messy from it. She finds it unendingly endearing.  

“Should I go?” she asks quietly. If he doesn’t want her to know who he is, she’ll respect it. But then he turns his face to her. 

Karen startles so hard that she slips off the pew and lands on her ass in the aisle. 

“ _Matt?_ ” What is he doing? What _the fuck_ is he doing? She grabs his leg and shakes it hard. “What are you doing?” she hisses. He’s going to get himself killed. He can’t _do_ this. 

Except that he can. She’s seen him.

It feels like double vision. She sees Matt, her dorky lawyer boss, too good for this world, tender-hearted, but now she sees this too, the darkness underneath. Her head is spinning.

It feels like one of those kids toys where you swap the panels out to change the doll’s clothes. Like someone just stuck Matt’s head onto Daredevil’s body. Especially because – _god, no_ – his lower lip is trembling. 

“Karen,” he says. He extends a hand to help her up but she stubbornly refuses. She pulls herself back into the pew next to him. “I can _do_ something, I _can_. So I _have to._ I have to do something.” 

She keeps thinking this is all a mistake. He’s blind, maybe he just put on the wrong clothes, and those clothes just happened to be Daredevil’s armor. 

But then she thinks about his shoulders framed in the flood lights, how she couldn’t have said if it was Matt or Daredevil. She thinks about Matt hurting his arm after she helped Daredevil with his dislocated shoulder, how Matt called in sick to work after she hauled Daredevil to Claire’s, bleeding and desperate. All the mysterious bruises, the weight that always seems to be pressing down on his shoulders. 

“But you kissed me,” she blurts. _Thanks brain, that’s where you want to take this?_ But now that it’s there, _it’s there_. “Why would you…” Confuse the shit out of her. Make her feel guilty for loving him and falling for Daredevil at the same time when really it was him all along. It was always him. 

“Because,” Matt huffs a small laugh, “you hear trouble in a dark alley and run toward it. Because you _look_ , and you _see_. Because I love you. So much that I can hardly think straight. And it was easier to do something about it when I was being someone else.” 

At least that’s what she thinks he says. Honestly her ears start to ring for the last couple words. She grabs his shoulders. 

“Say that again.” 

“It was easier to do-” 

“ _Ugh_ , no, before.” He smiles a little bit and her world explodes in technicolor. 

“I love you.” She leans in to kiss him and he’s ready for her, hand coming up to her face, lips soft and welcoming. She wants to kiss him for days, but she pulls back to say, “I-” 

“Don’t,” he says quickly, “don’t say it. Just wait. Meet me for breakfast and then you can, if you want, in the daylight, after you’ve gotten some sleep.” 

She wants to laugh. It really is him. 

She acquiesces and even though he can’t really walk her home in his getup, he follows her on the rooftops. At the door of her building she looks up and sees him there, a tall figure in the dark. She waves a little, then he disappears. 

She doesn’t sleep. Once he’s gone she finds herself by turns furious that he kept this from them and immeasurably sad that he’s gone through this alone. But when it comes time to meet him for breakfast, the daylight has changed nothing about the facts. 

He’s sitting in a booth facing the door when she comes in. She slides into the seat next to him and says, “I love you too,” on her way into a kiss. This surprises him. He laughs softly against her lips before kissing her properly. His lips are familiar, but it’s different too, because it’s Matt and Daredevil both. Hard and soft, light and dark. And she adores every part of it.


	7. An Invitation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: 5 times Foggy walks in on Matt and Karen doing adults-only stuff, but they just keep doing it because they're so comfortable with him they don't care if he watches.

Foggy stops in the doorway, one hand still on the knob.

Matt has Karen pressed against the file cabinets. He’s not kissing her, not really, but his lips are touching her jaw, and the intent is there.

“Hng,” Foggy says, nearly tripping as he backs away. 

“Come on in, Foggy,” Matt says, his lips still brushing Karen’s skin. She’s smirking in his general direction, but her eyes are half-lidded so he can’t tell if she’s looking directly at him or not.

Matt leans in and says something in her ear that makes her breath leave her in a huff, then slinks away to his office. Karen smooths her dress and sits primly at her desk while Foggy stands there like some kind of accidental voyeur, his face hot and a little upset about it.

After another five seconds, Karen lifts her head and gives him a sunny smile, as if the last two minutes hadn’t even happened.

“Coffee?”

* * *

They congregate at Matt’s, because Karen’s moved into a shoebox of an apartment, and Matt claims Foggy’s has a weird smell, which is _so_ untrue. Matt’s place is nicer anyway, those tall windows and brickwork, even if the neon glow makes him feel a little wired at night. If they have to work after hours, it’s an ok place to do it. 

They vote Foggy off the island to go grab dinner, and when he comes back with two plastic bags of Chinese and a pizza box for himself, because Matt and Karen have developed a weirdly similar terrible taste in greasy Chinese food, he shoves the door closed behind him loudly. They don’t spring apart, and he’s half glad for it, because they really do make a pretty picture. 

Karen is in his lap on the couch, the first two buttons of her shirt undone, and Matt is giving her collarbones the attention they deserve. 

“Did you get extra sauce?” Karen looks up over Matt’s head to ask. Foggy nods, though he’s not sure she saw, because Matt does something at her neck that makes her eyes roll back. She dips her head to get his mouth on hers again, and shoves her hand between them. Matt makes a high noise that sounds very much like a whine.

Foggy shuffles the styrofoam boxes around on the table in a huff, refusing to sit and eat while they’re over there making out, jesus, he’s not a pervert.

“Should I go?” he asks. It’s not often he gets upset with either of them, and he’s not upset, really. He’s happy that they’re happy. But honestly, way to shove his nose in it.

Karen looks up at him, her eyebrows drawn down. “No,” she says, then looks down at Matt. He couldn’t have said anything, Foggy’s standing right there and he’d have heard, so they must have developed telepathy along with bad taste in Chinese, because they come to some kind of silent mutual conclusion, and Karen climbs off his lap. 

She punches Foggy in the shoulder when she grabs her extra sauce packets and he flicks her hip, and they’re ok again.

* * *

But it keeps happening.

If there’s anyone else around, they’re perfectly professional, but if it’s just Foggy, Matt’s got his hand somewhere it shouldn’t be, and Karen’s yanking on Matt’s tie to get him to kiss her. 

It’s another late night when it boils over. Foggy made Matt go out and grab dinner, because they’d probably be fucking on the kitchen table by the time he got back so no, he’s not going to leave them alone together for a minute.

Not that it helps at all.

He’s read the same sentence about four times when he realizes he hasn’t heard any page turning from either of his companions for a while. When he looks up, he sighs. They’re leaned together across the table from him, kissing. Matt’s got one hand on her jaw, trailing his fingertips down her neck.

Foggy takes a moment to consider a course of action, but his thoughts get away from him when Matt bites on Karen’s lower lip, then runs his tongue over it. Karen’s got her hands in Matt’s hair like she always does and is tugging a little. He’s got great hair, Matt does, shiny and soft-looking. It looks nice, being tugged.

By the time he realizes he’s been staring for far longer than is appropriate, he also realizes his heart is hammering in his chest and gets suddenly angry.

“I need you to sign this,” he says coldly, slapping a paper down in front of Matt. Matt, because he is an asshole, reaches around Karen, who’s migrated into his lap, and signs right on the line, then drops the pen and pushes his hands up under Karen’s shirt, exposing the porcelain skin over her spine. 

Foggy stands and spins around, but Matt’s voice, low and rough and half-wrecked from the beautiful woman draped all over him, stops him.

“Where you going?”

Like he wants him to stay.

“I’m not gonna sit here while you two…” he waves his hand at them, unable to finish his sentence.

Karen looks over her shoulder at him, and apparently she’s an asshole too, which is not something he ever expected in a million years, but she’s gotta know how good she looks like that, all innocent, with lips shiny and red from Matt biting on them.

“So join us,” she says.

Matt’s looking over Karen’s shoulder at him expectantly too. Karen’s smiling at him now, and Foggy can feel the stupid look on his face, mouth all open and eyes all wide, but it’s not like he can help it.

“Matt?” he finally manages. Matt’ll shed some light on this. It’s a joke, right? C’mon buddy, help me out here. But Matt just raises his eyebrows. 

Karen lifts off Matt’s lap and grabs his hand. He follows her and as they pass by Foggy, Matt takes his hand and they play choo-choo train with Karen as the engine, driving them around to the couch, where Matt dutifully waits for her to arrange them to her liking. She pushes Foggy down on the middle cushion and Matt beside him, then sits on Foggy’s other side.

“This is. A joke right?” Before he can get mad that they’d think this was funny in any way shape or form, Matt leans over and kisses him, fingertips trailing from his jaw to his neck. Foggy is shocked into submission as Matt’s teeth graze his lip, then he pulls back.

Foggy whips his head around to Karen and screeches, “ _You’re ok with this?_ ” 

“It was her idea,” Matt says. Foggy doesn’t have to look at him to know he’s smiling. Karen is smiling at him too, all proud of herself for getting what she wanted.

This whole time he just thought they were really bad at boundaries, that he was invisible, that they were just so _comfortable_ with him they didn’t care if he watched, and maybe that last one _is_ part of it too because even though he feels like he’s about to vibrate out of his skin he’s also really at home here, Matt on one side, Karen on the other. 

He never really expected to have Karen’s hand traveling up his thigh, or Matt’s lips on his jaw, but if he’s honest with himself it has crossed his mind a time or two, after the lights have gone out.

“Oh.” he says intelligently.

Karen chuckles in his ear, “There he is,” and her breath across his skin makes him shiver.


	8. Fix You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: karen gets a bad cut but doesn't want to go through the hassle of a hospital. matt tells her he knows how to do stitches and insists she let him help her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been meaning to put all these old tumblr prompts up and now i'm finally getting around to it, so please excuse the massive inundation of chapters.

Matt is coming down the hallway when he hears a sharp crash from the office.

“Shit,” Karen yelps, then hisses behind her teeth. The sensory image of her, battered after a run-in with an assassin, flashes in his head and he sprints up the stairs as quietly as he can.

“Whoa, K, you alright?” Foggy is asking. Matt pauses for a moment before entering to recenter himself. 

“Good morning,” he says casually, because he shouldn’t have been able to hear anything from that far down the hall. 

“Here, put pressure on it,” Foggy is saying.

“What happened?”

“Oh it’s fine, I just dropped a mug and cut myself,” Karen says lightly, but her heart is thumping with adrenaline, and there’s the tinny sharpness of pain in her voice. It makes the hairs on Matt’s arms rise and his muscles tense involuntarily, ready to fight, or to gather her up in his arms and run her to the nearest hospital.

She must move the paper towels from over the cut to look at it, because she groans.

“Uh uh,” Foggy says, “That’s gonna need stitches.”

“No, no it’s fine,” Karen insists. “I’ll just rub some dirt in it and walk it off.”

She sways a little and Matt flinches, but keeps himself rooted to his spot and Foggy grabs her shoulders to steady her.

“Whoa, come sit down,” he says, leading Karen back to her desk and pulling her chair out around the front of it. 

“Guys, really, it’s fine. I don’t want to have to deal with an ER and as you probably know, I don’t have insurance.”

“Why don’t you let me stitch it for you?” Matt blurts before he has a chance to stop himself. The only thought that’s rattling around inside of him is that Karen is hurt, and he can fix it. 

They both look up at him.

“You want to put stitches in my hand?” she asks, with less disbelief than he’d have imagined.

“Yes.”

“Ok,” she says, and maybe she’s just curious to see where he’s going with this, or maybe she really does trust him that much.

“Come with me. I have first aid stuff at my place,” he says, and Foggy’s glaring at him because Karen’s smart and she’s going to ask questions, but for him there’s no choice here. Karen is hurt, and he can fix it.

He grabs more paper towels and instructs her to keep pressure on it. People give them a wide berth on the subway, but thankfully his apartment isn’t far. Karen’s getting a little woozy and she leans against him, even as she apologizes.

“Don’t worry about it, probably a little bit of shock,” he says lightly, wrapping his arm around her shoulders—just to support her. But she smells like cinnamon and vanilla and—

“You ever broke a bone or anything?” he asks, to keep her (and his) mind occupied.

He keeps a hand on her shoulder as he opens his front door, so he can grab her if she passes out, but she’s gritting her teeth and fighting through it.

“Sprained my ankle one time,” she lies, and Matt wants to call her out on it, wants to know the truth and everything else about her, but he just ushers her inside and into a kitchen chair.

“How’d you manage that?”

“Doing cartwheels and crashing into things,” she lies again. Matt washes his hands and lets them air dry as he fetches her a glass of water and his first aid kit from the bathroom. He removes a couple things, like a scalpel and a long pair of tongs, because why would a blind lawyer need medical-grade tools?

He pulls up a chair in front of her and sits at the edge, carefully placing the gauze, needle and surgical thread on the table.

“Alright, let me see,” he says, holding his hand out, and she places hers in it, still clutching the paper towels. He gently pulls her fingers open and she hisses as the dried blood pulls at the cut on her palm.

“Sorry,” he says, pulling the paper towel from her hand and gently ghosting his fingertips over the edges of the cut. A flash of adrenaline shoots through him and he forces himself to breathe through it. It’s a little ridiculous–she’s the one who’s hurt and he’s the one panicking, but it’s become a part of him now. Eat, sleep, fight, make sure Karen is ok. Something’s gotta give eventually, but he’s not sure what, so he’ll dance around it until it boils over.

“Yeah, you definitely need stitches.”

Karen’s turned her head away and her voice is strained, but she’s pushing through it and Matt feels a wave of pride in her that isn’t his to have.

“You seem pretty confident about this.”

“Yeah, I used to stitch my dad up a lot, even after I lost my sight. Some things you never forget.”

The pain is still there, over 20 years later, and Karen puts her hand on his knee briefly. It’s meant as a gesture of comfort, and it works a little too well. He flashes her a grateful smile and sets her hand on the table to get to work.

He doesn’t use the topical anesthetic in his bag very often–he may be a little bit of a masochist–but he’s glad he has it now. He gingerly cleans the still-bleeding cut as much as he can. With her every flinch, Matt murmurs apologies and scoots a little closer, bracketing her knees between his.

“You doing ok?” he asks. 

“Mhm,” she says. “Try not to stab me in the thigh though ok?”

Matt laughs, because he can stitch a gash with a hair’s breadth accuracy.

“I’ll do my best. Don’t look. Ready?” he asks, and begins before she can reply.

“Ah,” she says, shooting him a glare and Matt has to fight back a smile. After a few stitches, she glances down at her hand, then quickly away again. She settles on watching him out of the corner of her eye. With every stitch, Matt feels his panic dissipating. 

“You miss him,” she says quietly, and he’s very aware of her eyes on him, and the way she’s nested between his legs, her knees brushing the insides of his thighs.

“Every day.”

“He must’ve been a great man,” she says. 

Part of becoming an adult is realizing that your parents are only human, and Matt knows about his father’s shortcomings. Even still, he holds him up as the kind of man he wants to be. But there’s no way he can say all that when he’s got Karen’s blood on his hands.

“He was a good father,” he says instead.

It’s not a long cut, only about 2″ and he’s finished in a few minutes. He cleans and dresses it, wrapping gauze around her hand, careful to keep his touch both gentle and professional. But the skin on the underside of her wrist is soft and she’s pliable under his hands, so if he lingers, who could blame him?

“Too tight?”

She shakes her head, then catches herself. “Uh, no, it’s perfect. Thanks.”

“No problem.” They both know she doesn’t need it, but he offers his hand to help her up anyway, and she takes it. Standing toe to toe with her does things to him—makes his brain go a little haywire, so he blurts—

“Why don’t you take today off? We can’t give you workman’s comp, but I’ll bring lunch by later.” 

She laughs a little, and he can tell she wants to argue that she’s _fine_ , but she relents instead.

“Alright,” she says, following him out the door, cradling her hand to her chest. “Bring Thai. You know what I like.”

Matt laughs too, because he does know what she likes, so he puts his hand around her arm as they walk together to the subway and offers to see her home, knowing she’ll refuse.

He brings her Thai that afternoon and finally lets her talk him into trying some of hers. It’s so spicy it makes him sweat, but it’s worth it to hear her laugh.

Something’s gonna give eventually, he can feel it boiling, and when she reaches forward with napkins to playfully mop his forehead, he’s pretty sure it’s going to be him who breaks first.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Matt is trying and failing to comb his hair and get it in place, and Karen comes to the rescue

She’s given up trying not to watch, her eyes drawn invariably back to where Matt’s sitting behind his desk, combing his hair in a vain attempt to get it to lay right.

He combs it straight back and pats at it gingerly, but is unsatisfied. He combs it to the right. Another pat and a frustrated huff.

Karen is leaning back in her chair, twirling her hair around her finger idly as she watches. She wishes she could record this for a bad day, because it’s the cutest thing she’s ever seen.

After a few more moments of combing, patting and huffing, Karen can’t stand it anymore and moves to his open doorway.

“Can I?” she begins, then falters, wishing she’d put more thought into this. “Would you like a hand?”

Matt heaves a grateful sigh. “Yes, if you don’t mind.”

“No, I mean, sure yeah, not at all,” Karen says, going for casual but sounding a little bit strangled. He turns toward her as she moves behind his desk to stand in front of him and he holds the comb up to her expectantly. She takes it, but she’s always been more of a brush person herself, so she just sets it on the edge of his desk. He’s sitting still, leaning a little bit forward into her, but his eyebrows jump up past the rim of his glasses.

Karen just squeezes her hands into fists once before pushing her fingers into his hair. His lips part and he takes in a quick breath and holds it as she parts his hair where she wants it and combs it down with her fingers. She scrunches some of it in her palms so it’s not flat and gives him a final little jujz before stepping back.

“There,” she announces, admiring her handywork. It’s got a little more body than it usually does and it definitely looks like she just had her hands in it, but it’s a good look.  

He lets out the breath he’d been holding and says, “Thanks,” in a rush.

“You’re welcome,” she says, rubbing her palms together briefly, then turns and flees to the safety of the other room.

It happens twice more that week and she’s starting to get suspicious when Matt abandons the pretense. He comes into the office one morning wearing a smirk that makes her want to fan herself and walks up to her desk. He leans down and places his comb in front of her.

“Um. Thanks?”

“I don’t think I need it anymore,” he says with a shrug, still with that half smile on his face. He points up at his head. “How am I today?”

Something in that smile is making her blush and she thinks she might get it now.

“Could use some work,” she says, and it makes his smirk break into a grin. He tips his head toward his office, then goes to sit, trusting her to follow.


	10. The Good Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: they fight and Foggy tries to calm them but they won't stop and then all of sudden they start make out and Foggy's like "??????"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a lot more of these waiting in the wings than I thought I did, sry

“How could you?” Karen shouts, spinning away and combing her hands roughly through her hair while Matt visibly reigns himself in. Foggy is holding his hands out in front of him in a placating gesture but he hasn’t been able to get a word in edgewise, even if he had any idea what to say.

“I’m a lawyer Karen, I defend people,” Matt says in the low, even monotone of the truly enraged.

“Innocent people!” she shouts back, looking like she’s a half a second away from throwing the fax machine at him, twice her weight or not. “You know he did this, he practically confessed and you still took the case!”

Matt takes a step toward her, hands clenched into fists at his side and Karen takes a matching step toward him. Foggy waves his hands helplessly and makes an aborted move to step between them.

“I have to do my job and if he’s guilty then the court will—“

“Don’t you tell me to have faith in the system,” she seethes. “You and your stupid noble—“

Matt grabs her roughly by the hips and meets her halfway in a kiss that looks like it might hurt a little, but in the good way.

Foggy stands there frozen, hands still held out in front of him as Karen drags her hands up Matt’s chest to card her fingers through his hair, knocking his glasses askew.

Foggy darts his eyes around the room, but they get drawn back to where Matt is slowly pressing Karen step by step backward until she’s pinned against her desk. He’s starting to feel a little voyeuristic, but at the same time, watching two of the hottest people he’s ever met making out is no real burden.

“Should I?” He turns his palms up and weighs his options in each hand. “Go?”

The two of them finally allow a little bit of space between them, resting their foreheads together while they catch their breath.

“No,” Matt says, straightening his glasses, and something in his voice makes Karen glare at him. With her cheeks flushed and her lips swollen, it makes for a very pretty picture.

“This isn’t over,” she warns in a low voice that jabs at Foggy’s self-preservation instinct to run.

Foggy can see Matt fighting a smirk and that guy is ten different kinds of messed up, but something about it must work for her because Karen tips her face up to him as he leans in again and says against her lips, “Promise?”


	11. The Couch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: analysis of Matt and Karen sleeping next to each other.

Foggy brings the couch in for them as a joke, since they all spend so much time there, but it winds up as the centerpiece of the office. He found it in an alley and Karen had it steam cleaned, God bless her. A couple square pillows and a crocheted throw blanket eventually migrated there as well, probably also from Karen.

The three of them had just pulled an all-nighter at the office to beat an arbitrary legal deadline for a case. They’d taken turns on the couch for 15 minute naps, but they’re all still frazzled and dizzy with exhaustion. Foggy was the smart one and left to go home around 5 that morning. Karen puttered around, pretending to be busy, determined not to leave until she saw Matt pack up his briefcase and head out the door ahead of her. He’s tying up some loose ends while they’re at the front of his mind, but Karen stifling a yawn finally brings him out of his single-minded focus and back to the present.

“Go home, Karen, I’m right behind you,” he says.

She straightens the pillows on the couch, folds the blanket neatly.

“Yeah right, I’ve heard that before. I’m just finishing up here. I’m sure I’ll be finished whenever you are.”

Matt smiles. It’s just subtle enough without being pushy, but overt enough that he gets the message.

“Alright, you win.”

“Win? I don’t know what—what’re you talking about?” she says, but he can hear the smile in her voice. She grabs her purse and flops down on the couch while she waits for him to pack up. His feet feel suddenly heavy when he shuffles out of his office and he sinks down on the couch next to her before he collapses.

“Ugh,” he says. Karen laughs sleepily, tipping her head back against the couch back and slouching down a little more.

“What a day,” she murmurs, then falls asleep.

“Mhm,” he replies. He should wake her so they can go home and get some decent rest in their own beds, but she’s warm on his left side and is sliding slowly toward him. The backs of their hands are brushing where they rest between their thighs and Matt remembers the softness of her skin with a clarity that surprises him. The kind of clarity that speaks of the desire to feel it again.

She switched shampoos last week, and the fruity summer smell underlies her apple cinnamon lotion and vanilla perfume. She smells good enough to eat, and he’d be shocked at himself for the thought except it’s not the first time it’s crossed his mind.

She’s slid far enough over that her cheek is resting against his shoulder and the warm weight of her pressed against him lulls Matt to sleep too.

* * *

Foggy drops by around noon, coffee in hand, feeling refreshed. In his exhausted haze early that morning, he’d forgotten some documents he meant to look over.

He unlocks the door, swings it open and stops short, mid-stride in the doorway. There’s a tangle of limbs on the couch that takes him a moment to decipher. Matt is slouched back against one armrest, with Karen on her side, wedged between him and the couch back, her skirt hitched up around her thighs and one leg crossed over both of his. Matt’s arm is slung around her shoulders, cradling her against him and his other hand is wrapped around hers, where it rests on his chest.

Foggy carefully takes two steps backward, quietly locks the door and goes back home. The work will keep. 

The two of them will have stiff necks and an awkward conversation when they wake up, but maybe the two smartest idiots he knows will finally get it.


	12. This Moment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Matt realizing Karen is pregnant by hearing baby’s heartbeat

It’s faint at first, so faint he’s not sure what it really is. But one moment it’s not there and the next, it just is. The sound of Karen and Foggy bantering good-naturedly nearly covers it, as they shout back and forth playfully at each other from their respective chairs.

“I’ll let you think on that,” Karen says, her heartbeat steady and strong, always thrumming at the back of his consciousness. “And if you’d like to punch yourself in the face later, please know I support you in that decision.”

But just below the sound of her heart and Foggy’s, the hum of cars outside, voices in the adjacent floors and in the building across the street, there’s a fluttering. It’s high and fast and it sounds like it’s coming from their little office.

From where Karen sits, fingers intermittently tapping on her keyboard, rustling papers, scratching a No. 2 graphite pencil on a piece of 20lb copy paper.

It sounds muffled, watery, and Matt’s hands begin to shake. _But she was—they were—_ His legs feel strangely weak as he stands and moves to the doorway of his office.

Karen lifts her face to him, her smile faltering and he can only imagine what she sees in his expression. Matt feels hot tears prick his eyes as he crosses to her. Leaning down, he takes her precious face in his hands and kisses her forehead, then her lips gently, then kneels before her. He knows he’s freaking her out and it’s a struggle not to just let it go, laugh and cry and scream with the greatest joy and deepest fear he’s ever known. He feels a little too big for his skin, like he might explode from trying to contain the vastness of this feeling.

“Matt, what’s?” Karen begins and Matt gives himself just one more moment with his face pressed into her lap, that tiny, fluttering heartbeat next to his ear. She pets his head, unsure, a little scared, and he straightens.

“I love you,” he says, as steadily as he can.

“I love you too,” she says, bewildered, and he reaches forward as he stands to kiss her again, harder this time.

He won’t tell her, won’t take that moment away from her. But today, this moment, this is his.


	13. Dark Nights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: On the really bad nights, it's Daredevil, not Matt, who comes home to her

The roof access door slams against the wall. No warning, no explanation. Karen gasps from where she’s making herself another cup of tea in the kitchen, and whips around. The early light of pre-dawn is breaking through the big windows and she knows he’ll tell her, like he does every time, that she shouldn’t wait up for him. She opens her mouth to make a joke to that effect because she knows Matt will need levity right now, but it’s not actually Matt who stalks in onto the landing—it’s Daredevil.

It happens sometimes, when the hole keeps getting deeper and he reaches so far down, down into the pit of human despair that he has a hard time climbing back out. He doesn’t talk about it, but he’s a patient man and Karen can only imagine the horrors that make him retreat behind the walls —behind the mask— so as not to feel it too deeply. 

She calls them dark nights. She won’t call them ‘bad’ because —and she has barely admitted this to herself— there’s a thrill that makes her toes preemptively curl when she sees the stiffness in his shoulders, the clench of his fists. It reminds her of that night in the rain, when she was nearly killed for the Union Allied information, so much so that she feels the cold rain like pebbles on her skin. The first night she met Daredevil. They were strangers then and really, they still are.

He takes off his gloves, but leaves the rest on and he heads straight for her. Her skin is already tingling, heat flushing from her core and spreading down and out, already boneless, dying for him.

He presses her back against the counter with a bruising kiss. The cut on his lip is still bleeding, and she tastes the coppery tang of his blood on her tongue, feels the warm wetness smudge across her lips. 

She keeps her hands to herself, as much as she wants to touch him, he needs to be in control right now. To feel his own strength, take comfort in her trust. She can’t help a ragged gasp when he bites down on the soft skin along her neck, or the moan when he laves his tongue over the mark.

Daredevil has no patience for delicacy. He yanks her old T shirt from the hem up over her head in one quick move and she hears the satisfying pop of stitches tearing. He grabs her by the hips and lifts her onto the counter so he can fit himself between her thighs and dip to take a nipple into his mouth. She arches into the sensation and leans her hands back behind her, knocking her empty mug over. It rolls onto the floor and shatters. 

The sound is oddly motivating; Daredevil’s fingers tighten on her hips and he scrapes his teeth back up to her throat. He pulls her legs around him and it’s her cue to hang on. He spins her around and instead of taking her to the couch or the bed he lays her out right there on the kitchen floor. There’s a shard of porcelain next to her head and her arm brushes it when she winds her fingers in her own hair to keep herself from grabbing at him.

She looks down to watch him kiss and bite along her stomach, edging her shorts down. His mask is smooth and slightly cool against her skin. His fingertips are digging into her thighs and suddenly she can’t look anymore, or she’ll break, shatter like porcelain and sob with pleasure that’s mixed with pain, joy mixed with sorrow. He’s given it all to her time and time again and he does once more with his lips and teeth and tongue over the sensitive shell of her ear, pushing all the way inside her with one quick thrust and pulling a filthy moan from her throat.

He’s quiet but for his harsh breaths against her neck, the hands that fist in her hair say what he can’t and whatever he needed to work out, he leaves inside of her.

When he’s sated, cheek pillowed against her breast, when she can’t tell the difference between their sweat and his tears, then she touches him, threading her fingers in his hair, comforting. He’s too exhausted, physically, mentally and emotionally, to do anything but let her. 

He’ll apologize all day tomorrow and halfway into the next day, not with words but with touches. Reverently kiss every inch of her skin, bring her breakfast in bed and glasses of water throughout the day. Keeping your girl hydrated is the surest form of love, she jokes. She can tell where he’s at by the tilt of his smile, if he still thinks he needs to atone. It’s the Catholic in him, feeling guilty for everything.

Maybe she’ll tell him someday that he doesn’t need to feel guilty for this, or apologize for it. Maybe she’ll tell him that while he thinks she’s sacrificing for him, helping him, it isn’t one-sided. Even if the sight of the fading bruises and bite marks didn’t make her warm from head to toe, she’d do anything for him, be anything he needs. That’s what partners do. And that’s what she was put here for. Support this man, so that he can do what he needs to do. Help him help others with the law and without. She knows now that Daredevil isn’t one person, it’s two. (Maybe even three.) He wouldn’t be able to do it without her, not for long anyway, and when he saves a life, she’s saved it too. When he puts on the mask, so does she.

And maybe one day she’ll tell him she wasn’t alive before this. He raised her up, gave her purpose.

But when he wakes her the next morning, having already kissed down one side of her body to her knees, she thinks maybe she doesn’t have to after all. When he settles himself between her legs to chase her sighs, feeds her breakfast, kisses her knuckles, she thinks maybe he already knows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stuckylikeglue.tumblr.com


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